Of pennance and atonement
by Wintermut3
Summary: A young acolyte becomes an inquisitor and is thrust into a world of violence and intrigue.
1. Chapter 1

Stale hive world air streamed through garantuan vents, smelled like the chemical scrubbers that cleaned out the worst of the toxins in the air, ducts ran through a myriad puzzle of buildings that looked like they were all connected somehow. They could have been the haphazard palace of some mad god, narrow streets coated with thick soot, the whole underhive dominated by the manufactorum above. Indentured workers called this place their home, centuries worth of hab blocks mashed together, centred around a vast marketplace where merchants peddled their wares, supplied food and water and everything else the underhivers could want or need.

Three young men strode through a throng of workers, dreary faced bodies wearing heavy boiler suits, smeared with grease and filth. Electrical lights lit the streets as the night cycle fell, the young men all wore long coats with tall collars, held a permit to carry weapons and one weilded a stubby shotgun with it's stock cut off. Acolytes to an aging inquisitor, their mission was a simple one, hunt down a hermit who was once a powerful member of the ecclesiarchy and bring him to justice for heretical writings that he is believed to have been the author of.

August was one of the three young men, a scholar who the inquisitor took into his retinue for his latent psychic powers, something that the young man had been seeking absolution for ever since he discovered the curse bestowed upon him. Neither of the others trusted him and he knew it, rarely spoke to them and never heard a kind word from either of their lips. Belaqua and Tibor, they were both promising warriors and devout in their worship of the Emperor, wore shining breastplates beneath their coats and carried an array of weapons that included the shotgun, bolt pistols and powerswords sheathed in leather.

A month of discreet investigation, they tortured an eleven year old boy to death, heard he'd been the one to deliver food to the hermit but he wouldn't say where the heretic lived. August discovered the location of the hermit seconds before the boy expired from shock and blood loss, recived a sneer from Belaqua and Tibor told him that he'd best be careful, a thinly veiled threat. He tucked away the needles and knives he'd used and they set to work immediately.

A warren of alleys that criss crossed one another between the hab blocks, the trio drew their weapons once they had reached the shadows between those buildings. Tibor carried an auspex in one hand, his shotgun in the other and Belaqua weilded a bolt pistol while August clutched the grip of a battered old autopistol. They gave him last choice of weapons, Belaqua mocking him and saying that he could always use his heretical 'gift' if he needed a weapon. They would have killed August long ago were it not for the influence of their inquisitor, though he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

-

The heretic lived in a dilapidated basement, a blanket of hot air lay at the foot of a flight of stairs, darkened hallway lined with broken doors and only a few flickered with the light of candles or old promethium lamps. The trio felt something unnatural about the place and August winced at a gnawing feeling at the back of his skull, cocked his pistol and followed the other two acolytes into the unholy lair. Rockcrete walls were slathered with crude aquilla shapes, scriptures scrawled in High Gothic and the names of something that August wished he hadn't known, the true names of at least a hundred different lesser daemons.

It was a realization that chilled him to the bone, wondered if the other two knew, figured they were probably chomping at the bit for a chance to kill the heretical hermit. He knew they wouldn't listen to reason, wouldn't turn back and call for assistance, if he suggested it they'd call him a heretic and kill him on the spot. They would have loved the chance to kill him and if he was a heretic, a coward, anything that made him an enemy to the Emperor, then they would be justified in murdering him where he stood. August breathed, steeled himself for what lay ahead, gripped his autopistol and tried to block out that gnawing feeling in his head.

As they went deeper and deeper into the dark, they peered into the rooms where there was light, low altars with grizzly offerings and it became evident that the heretical ecclesiarch would die before they could leave that place. The gnawing feeling became worse, shadows moving in his brain, August touched his head and struggled to walk further. The other two almost completely ignored him, Bleaqua glancing back to make sure he wouldn't have to kill a posessed acolyte, knew that he'd love the chance.

A light glowed at the end of the hall, an unnatural red colour that hurt to look into, closer and closer to where the shadows in his head were coarse and grainy images on his vision that scraped and burned like sand paper. August saw the other two plunge into the siclky red glow, staggered in behind them and saw what caused the shadows, an aging man in tattered robes with bare hands and feet. He held a book in his hand, chanted in a low voice, the body of a young girl lying naked on the floor in a circle of candles that burned with red flame, feet and hands bound in chains.

The heretic almost ignored the trio of intruders, shadows growing vivid as the girl's corpse began to writhe and August saw the horror that they faced, a hideous tangle of daemonic bodies fighting for posession of the girls body. Dead flesh pulsated with unnatural forces, masses of hands reaching out and grasping at the material realm, the old heretic smiled a wicked grin. Laughter reverberated through rockcrete walls, candles flaring as the young girl began to spasm wildly and hands tore at her flesh from the inside, screaming in a chorus of different voices, none of which were her own.

"Cardinal Erasmus, you have been sentenced to death by inquisitor Salem Helmsburg, now die heretic!" Belaqua screamed, levelling his bolt pistol at the heretic and firing it into the crooked form of the old man.

"For the Emperor!" Tibor chimed in, working a shell into the chamber of his weapon and letting go at the daemonic form that still writhed on the filthy floor.

It's face was clear to August, an ethereal form approaching from the tangle of shadows that fought for posession of the girl, with a gesture it knocked Belaqua and Tibor to the floor. The girl waved her arm in a similar gesture as the rest of her body kicked and spasmed, a wave of crackling energy, August was transfixed by the shape that moved toward him. It had long arms and legs, hands ending in bony claws, a skeleton wreathed in rippling flesh that became clearer and clearer.

"The Emperor is our father and our guardian ..." August couldn't move, couldn't close his eyes and could now see nothing but the daemonic creature that approached with a long, loping stride. "While I walk in his light, I will not be seduced by the honeyed lies of the heretic, I denounce the evils of the witch and the warlock ..."

"Your Emperor cannot save you." The thing spoke with a voice that was like razorblades, slashed at Augusts' conciousness and made him feel like he might be torn asunder by it's very presence.

The old heretic was still alive, ducked the bolter rounds and laughed wildly as the girl gestured and knocked the hot headed acolytes to the floor, body still wracked with spasms. He watched his daemon taking form, naked body still kicking as hands grasped and a face screamed out of the clammy flesh on her stomach. He'd bound her hands and feet together with heavy chains, each link etched with words and symbols, high gothic that hurt one's eyes to look upon.

His eyes widened as he turned to where August stood, saw him squeeze his eyes shut and cry out with something far beyond pain or terror. The girl stopped kicking, limp body lifted up by something none but August could see, the shadowy form that mocked him flashed like a pict-projector and was gone. He had taken posession of the body, destroying the other daemons utterly, taking physical form outside of the warp.

August's hands began to crackle, barely noticable at first but then there was a terrible light, Belaqua rubbed his eyes and reached for a long dagger under his coat. Saw that Tibor was bleeding heavily from his nose and mouth, saw Augusts' eyes open and saw in them the same terrible light that wreathed his hands, the old heretic stopped laughing. His face a mask of horror as the acolyte and the daemon clashed with one another, his work torn to pieces as hands balled into tight fists pounded at the flesh of his daemon even as it broke the chains that bound it, a sickening crack as mortal bones were broken and the piercing rattle of the daemonic beast that cried out from within.

Reanimated body battered and broken, August tore at dead flesh with his bare fingers, tearing off wet chunks and hurling them aside in his fury. He reduced the body to little more than a broken torso, ripped off arms and legs, smashed the head to a bloodied pulp as the daemon was sent shrieking back into the warp. Belaqua watched in horror, dragged himself back against a filthy wall and clutched at his blade, tears streaming down his cheeks as he prayed furiously for deliverance.

The heretic uttered liturgies memorized through decades of service to the ecclesiarchy, eyes wide with terror, hands clutching holy scriptures as he held them out to August to shield himself from the unholy fury that had consumed the acolyte. It didn't help, yelped as he was lifted off the ground by powerful hands, looked into burning eyes and emptied his bowells. He was torn in two, legs hurled to one side of the room and a torso sailed across to the other, trailing bloodied intestines in it's wake.

"I denounce the evils of the witch and the warlock ..." August collapsed, totally exhausted, his mind wracked with the stresses of gazing directly into the warp and having one of it's denizens gaze back at him, spoke to him and he thought he might go insane.


	2. Chapter 2

Inquisitor Helmsburg was an intimidating figure, six feet tall, his body was a solid wall of muscle. He was impressive in his rich clothing, cream coloured trousers and a white shirt and his age served only to make him look even more regal than he already would have. On his right hand he wore a big cameo ring with the symbol of the inquisition etched into some rare shell, ruby background sparkled in the light of an old promethium lamp. He sat in his study, a room with walls dominated by shelves and hundreds of books, scrolls and dataslates. At it's centre there was a desk, huge and imposing like the man that sat behind it in a tall leather chair, carved of wood and varnished so that it was an inky dark shade of brown, almost black.

"Enter." He said in response at a gently knock on the door, August stepped inside, still weak from his last mission.

"You called for me?" He walked with the aid of a walking stick, wore a soft brown suit and a frock coat, his hands wrapped with thick bandages.

"I did, please come in, sit down." Gestured to a chair opposite his own, looked into the eyes of his young acolyte from across the big wooden desk. "I've no further use for you August and I hope that you'll understand."

A painful grunt as he sat down, it took a moment or two for August to process the words that he'd heard, understood fully. The flesh on his back stung under his shirt, long strips of bloodied flesh where he'd whipped himself and prayed for forgivness, denounced the evils of the witch and begged for absolution. Perhaps he would be sentenced to death, repent for his sins one last time before his body would be consumed by flame and he would be dead.

"I understand completely." The old inquisitor gave a slight smile at the young acolytes response, scratched at a shock of silvery grey hair.

"I don't think that you do boy, I don't think you understand at all which is why you're here." Puzzled, August wrung bandaged hands together nervously. "I'd imagine that you think I'll judge you a heretic and have you executed."

Of course he thought he would have him executed, August spoke to a confessor and told him that he had seen into the warp, spoken with a daemon using the power his curse had granted him. It made no sense to keep him alive, the Imperium should be purged of the taint of chaos, the only purpose he might still serve is to be the catalyst to some great conflict. Perhaps he might be dispatched to seek out some heretical cult, infiltrate their ranks and instigate an uprising that could plunge an entire world into conflict.

"See, you understand the way that the Imperium must be cleansed of corruption." Salem Helmsburg dug a hand into his pocket, pulled a long and thin cigar out, lit it with a match before carrying on. "My other acolytes believe they understand but I don't think that they do, when I speak to you I can see it in your eyes. Regardless of your curse, you are pious, regardless of the way others look at you, you remain dedicated to our cause. You posess qualities that I believe are important to the role we of the Ordo Hereticus must play in the salvation of our Imperium, your undying conviction and faith, you have stared chaos in the face and are not seduced or insane."

He took a long drag on his cigar and August fidgeted nervously, couldn't see where his master was going, touched his forehead and took a deep breath as a jolt of pain shot through his body. Tibor had died and Belaqua was greviously injured, underwent extensive surgery to fix a damaged spine and he was to be confined to a wheelchair for at least three months while he healed under the care of a sister Hospitallier. Tibor was interred in the small catacomb that lay beneath Helmsburgs' chapel, sealed inside of a brazen casket and sat in an ornately carved alcove with his shotgun and a page from his book of liturgies.

"What would you have me do master?" August asked, confused, totally bewildered.

"I will present you with this," Helmsburg opened a drawer, dragged on his cigar and handed August a tiny black box. "Then I would ask you to return to your chambers and rest, as soon as your hands have healed you must leave."

-

August had a comfortable room on the big estate, tall windows looking out over a well kept garden with perfectly sculpted hedges and a pond with glassy water beneath which silver and grey fish swam. He had a desk of his own, a promethium lamp and a stack of papers, a mechanical stylus and a pot of black ink that he'd use to fill the device when it was empty. Hobbled inside and sat down on the bed, glanced up at the framed picture hung against the wall above his desk, an inspirational picture that showed a distant ancestor of the Inquisitor delivering his judgment on a heretical Guard captain, took off his coat and removed the black box from his pocket.

The tiny black box was smooth plastic, he dared not open it before he had sat down, almost forgot the weight of his sins as he set himself down and lay the walking stick at his side. Nearly dropped the box, bandages made him clumsy and he still felt a sting of pain shoot through his hands from time to time, expensive surgery would make burned flesh look like new again.

Struggling to open the box, it clicked open, a hinged lid revealing that the inside was padded with soft red velvet and set inside, a shining signet ring. Outside the sky was blue, the whole world given over to agriculture, Inquisitor Helmsburg had inherited thousands of workers along with his estate and it provided a constant flow of money that he needed for his investigations. The ring was a fat little adamantine piece, a thick circular part on top stamped with the inquisitorial seal and his name engraved inside the band.

His heart skipped a beat, knew what this meant, the master must have gone to his conclave and discussed the merits of making his acolyte a full inquisitor with his peers. August had been to one of their gatherings only once, they convened beneath a great library in a shadowy chamber that they lit with a multitude of candles. He remembered the inquisitor lord Hirax who presided over the conclave, augmentic arms and legs, an augmentic eye and his body swathed in robes of black and red. All of the inquisitors wore black robes and their retainers wore red, listened with a respectful silence as each inquisitor spoke in turn, reported on a rogue psyker who was hiding in another sector.

Tried to imagine them discussing his situation, envisioned them deciding if he should live or die, discussing how else they might put him to use. The conclave was composed of Istvaanians, sought to plunge the Imperium into cataclysmic conflict that would purify them, make the Imperium great again. Hirax himself talked of how corrupt the Ministorum had become, how the High Lords of Terra had grown fat and content in their golden palace.

He saw the Inquisitor named Natalya Odeon calling for him to be burned at the stake, the aristocratic warrior woman sptting firey rhetoric and preaching her staunch opposition to witches in any form. The Conclave were all Istvaanians but they still had vastly different beliefs, some saw that conflict would purge the Imperium of the taint of corruption and others thought that it would force it to strike out at foes that are allowed to grow too powerful by the Ministorum.

Eventually they would have argued themselves to a standstill and Hirax would had sat silent and still, looked like a statue of augmentics garbed in black and red, unmoving until he had come to a conclusion while the entire conclave waited in silence. The man had considerable influence, he was able to call on several different chapters of the Adeptus Astartes and commanded a small fleet of war ships, none would dare show him any disrespect and August imagined that he had some idea as to why.

He clicked the lid on the little box shut after a lingering gaze at the signet ring, he was as good as a full inquisitor now, few in all the Imperium could tell him what to do and it was a strange thing to know that you weilded such power. The first thing August thought to do was stand, take the walking stick and make his way down the hall of the big chateau, down a wide staircase and past a servitor that busied itself cleaning vibrant red carpet.

The chapel was seperate from the house, walked outside and down more stairs into the gardens, a grove of trees nearby shaded a sister Hospitallier who pushed Belaqua in a wheelchair. He didn't speak, glared at nothing in particular with glassy eyes, August knew that he'd spent the whole morning at the chapel praying with the sister, she smiled politely when she saw August walking toward the chapel and he nodded in return.

The chapel was a squat building wit a domed cupola, a cast iron aquilla perched at the top. The place was obviously much older than the chateau, it's stone walls pitted with age, August stepped inside and felt touched by something holy as he looked toward intricately designed stained glass windows that coloured the bare wooden floor a kalidescope of red, yellow, green and blue.

"The Emperor is my father and my savior, but I must also protect the Emperor." He said as he knelt before the altar, bowed his head and clasped his hands together in prayer. "I pray that absolution will come, that the Emperor might assist me in my duties in his name so that I might be absolved of my sins in death."


End file.
